In My Dreams
by Leia
Summary: [Complete] To everyone else, 18 was untouchable, unfeeling. But despite everything, Kuririn saw something else. Could he ever tell 18 how he felt, or would he be doomed to silence and fear forever?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: You all know it by heart. I own nothing.   
  


In My Dreams 

The wind whipped her straight blonde hair into her eyes, forcing her to shake her head to clear her vision. The sudden wind brought a chill through her, and she rubbed her upper arms vigorously, trying to restore warmth. It suddenly struck her as how human this gesture was, and she stopped. 

Android #18 frowned to herself as she stared over the ocean horizon, noting how choppy the waves were, looking at the tumultuous black clouds that rolled across the sky. _It will probably rain soon, _she thought to herself. 

Almost as if on cue, the sky split open and it began to rain; softly at first, then more steadily until it became a heavy downpour. #18's hair became plastered to her face, and she pushed a wet lock of hair out of her eyes. The rain didn't bother her--in fact, it was almost a guarantee that she would be left alone. For some reason, the humans found inclement weather something to avoid. 

#18 spoke too soon, however, for behind her she heard the sound of someone flying up to the roof, where #18 herself was perched. #18 bit back a sigh. Was she to have no peace? 

"Hey, #18, uh, it's raining." 

That would be Kuririn, the short, bald human--#18 recognized his voice and his hesitant manner, though she hadn't seen him in quite some time. She didn't turn to look at him. "I know it's raining." 

"Well, uh, maybe you should come inside. You might catch--" 

"Cold?" #18 finished the sentence for him, scorn evident in her voice. "I'm not susceptible to weak human illnesses, you know." 

There was a sigh, and finally #18 turned around. It was indeed Kuririn, the diminutive human hovering over the rooftop, rain soaking his clothes and damping his hair to his head . . . _hair_?? #18 almost did a double-take as she realized Kuririn's head was covered in short, black hair, which was plastered to his head at the moment. #18 couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "What did you do?" she asked incredulously. 

Kuririn gave a nervous laugh. "O, yeah . . . I decided to quit shaving my head. The girls never are attracted to bald guys," he put a hand behind his head as he realized how stupid that sounded. 

#18 started blankly at him for a few seconds until she discerned that the last part of the remark was meant to be a joke. Once she had discovered this, #18 rolled her eyes and looked away, fixing her gaze once more upon the ocean. 

"Hey, I haven't seen you for a month or so," Kuririn attempted to strike up conversation again. "How have you been?" 

"Fine," #18 replied shortly. Living at Kame House with the dirty old man, his friends, and those ridiculous talking animals was exceptionally bizarre. #18 kept having to cover the keyhole in her bedroom with a blanket, just in case that crazy old man got funny ideas and decided to peek. #18 hated living there, but she had nowhere else to go. 

Kuririn's voice cut into her thoughts. "Master Rôshi isn't a bad guy, you know. Odd, yeah, but he's interesting to talk to." 

#18's head snapped around sharply. "How did you know what I was thinking?" she demanded. "Can you read minds like that Namek?" 

"No," Kuririn shook his head, seeming pleased with himself. "Though sometimes I wish Piccolo would teach me how. Nah, I just recognized the facial expression. Bulma stayed here a while once, a long time ago, and she complained about Master Rôshi all the time." 

#18's only answer was a snort, which effectively ended the conversation. She was getting quite good at slapping down Kuririn's attempts at conversation. 

The wind picked up again, blowing the rain in all directions and sending shivers up #18's spine. She shuddered in spite of herself. All of a sudden, #18 felt warm and dry--she looked over to see that Kuririn had moved over to sit close beside her and had raised his energy--what he called "ki"--so that a soft yellow glow enveloped him. His proximity to #18 allowed the aura to surround her as well, keeping off the rain. 

When #18 realized what was happening, she jumped up immediately and flew into the air. "What do you think you were doing?" #18 demanded angrily. 

Kuririn's face had turned a deep shade of scarlet. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered, "You looked cold, that's all." 

"I don't need anyone's help, you understand me?" #18 snapped by way of reply. "Just leave me alone!" 

Kuririn bit his lip, looking embarrassed and not a little hurt. "I'm sorry," he apologized again, "But you really should come in out of the rain . . . you may not catch a cold, but you never know." 

"I'm not going back inside that house," #18 declared vehemently. "They hate me--they all do, except that dirty old man you call Rôshi," she scowled blackly at the sky, her dark expression matching the intensity of the storm raging above. All of a sudden, something snapped inside her. "I'm always being judged," #18 burst out suddenly, "All because of who I am. I don't know why I stayed here even this long. Goodbye." 

#18 turned and made to fly off, away from that house, away from Kuririn's friends--but something stopped her. Literally. Glancing down, #18 saw Kuririn had grabbed her hand to keep her from flying away. She fixed him with a cold glare, and Kuririn hurriedly dropped her hand. 

"#18, I was just wondering if, uh, since you don't like staying here, and some of my friends are still a little wary of you, uh . . ." Kuririn was blushing again. 

#18 crossed her arms. "Hurry up. I want to get away from here." 

"Why don't you come live with me?" Kuririn blurted out. 

#18 merely raised a delicate eyebrow. "Excuse me?" 

She'd thought Kuririn couldn't get any redder, but she was wrong. This time the flush spread right to the roots of his hair. "That's not what I meant," Kuririn struggled to rephrase his badly-put inquiry. "I meant . . . I have a guest room at my place; I use it whenever Gohan comes over. There's a bathroom and sitting room there, too, so the only room we'd have to share would be the kitchen, and if you want, we could take shifts or something." 

#18 considered. While her initial reaction would be to rap out a sharp "No!" she realized that she probably wouldn't find a better offer. Kuririn was making it perfectly clear that he would stay out of her way, leaving #18 to do as she pleased. Even if she had to share the kitchen with him, it would be a hundred times better than staying here, or living alone in the woods. 

"All right," #18 relented, "But understand that I want to be left alone. I need my space, is that clear?" 

Kuririn nodded. "You don't need to worry. I may have trained under Master Rôshi, but that doesn't mean I picked up on his habits." 

"Good," #18 replied humorlessly. "Because I'd hate to have to kill you. Senseless murder was always more my brother's style." 

"Believe me, no one's happier to hear that than I am," Kuririn joked. "Now if you'd care to follow me . . ." 

* * * * * * 

That night, Kuririn couldn't sleep. All he could think of was--predictably--#18; her face, her voice, the haughty way she always flipped her hair out of her eyes after she had stepped on yet another of Kuririn's pathetic efforts to start conversations . . . and her eyes. _Especially_ her eyes. Ice-blue, they always seemed to penetrate through him, stripping Kuririn of his emotional defenses; but beneath the coldness, Kuririn thought he could sense a deep and lingering pain. 

#18 had definitely made it clear that she wanted Kuririn to leave her alone, but Kuririn didn't mind. The very fact that she had agreed to live at his house was something, even if it was born of a desperate attempt to be rid of Master Rôshi and his advances. And she _had_ eaten dinner with him, though she'd repelled any conversation. Maybe he was exaggerating, but Kuririn thought #18 was starting to mellow a little. 

Kuririn groaned and buried his face in his pillow to hide the sound. His life had been much simpler before he'd met #18; his previous relationships hadn't lasted more than a matter of months, sure, but there had never been this element of wondering. The girls had either liked him or they hadn't, one or the other. With #18, though, there was a constant "what if" factor, and it was this that drove Kuririn crazy. 

The steady rain which had poured all day had now turned into a horrendous thunderstorm. It was the perfect backdrop to Kuririn's musings, he thought morosely, with the crashes of thunder that seemed to pronounce doom with every flash of lightning. How fitting. 

With a snort of disgust, Kuririn threw off the covers and got out of bed. He obviously wasn't going to get any sleep this way, and he might as well go downstairs and get a glass of milk or something. 

Throwing on a house robe, Kuririn left his room and headed for the stairwell, inadvertently glancing at #18's room as he did so. 

The door was open, her bed empty. 

Kuririn's eyes widened, and he hurriedly checked every room in the house. All of them were vacant. Just then, a particularly loud crack of thunder sounded, and Kuririn's gaze was drawn up to the ceiling as a sudden thought occurred to him. "O, no," he muttered. "You wouldn't." 

She would. Kuririn rolled his eyes and opened the front door, instantly drenched to the bone from the torrent of rain. "#18!" Kuririn yelled, but the noise from the thunderstorm drowned him out. During the intermittent flashes of lightning, Kuririn looked frantically around for the woman he'd grown to care for. If she had run off . . . 

But no, wait . . . when the next strike of lightning came, Kuririn saw a huddled form lying on the roof. Breathing a sigh of relief, Kuririn flew up to the roof and found #18, fast asleep, though obviously she was soaking wet. "What are you trying to prove?" Kuririn asked quietly as he picked #18 up and carried her back into the house. "I know you don't need me, but you don't have to drown yourself in rain to show me that." 

Kuririn set #18 down on her bed, covered her with a blanket and started to leave the room. Before he did, Kuririn glanced back at her, sleeping soundly and peacefully despite the fact that her clothes were still dripping, and her hair was plastered across her cheek. That couldn't be very comfortable. 

He decided to risk it. Going back to the bed, Kuririn perched on the edge of it, took #18's hand and raised his ki level, surrounding her with a soft glow. Within seconds she was completely dry, but Kuririn was reluctant to leave. Asleep, #18 looked like a little girl, her face somehow innocent, bereft of the haughtiness which was characteristic of her normal expression. 

Kuririn sat there for a few more minutes, still holding her hand, until #18 stirred restlessly in her sleep. It was then that Kuririn realized what he was doing--_Kami-sama, I'm watching her sleep!_--and he let go of her hand and jumped back, wiping his palms on his house robe as though he'd done something wrong. 

Shaking for some unknown reason, Kuririn backed away from the bed and out the door. _Kuririn, you idiot,_ he thought to himself as he smacked his forehead with his palm,_ Don't you realize what you're doing? You've fallen in love with an android . . . and not just any android, one who tried to kill all your friends!_

_No, _Kuririn's mind contradicted itself. _Not #18. Her brother was the bloodthirsty one,_ he thought of the cold, heartless way #18 had dispatched her opponents--the dispassionate expression on her face when she first broke Vegeta's arm, then crushed it. _Well, maybe not, _Kuririn admitted. 

_It doesn't matter! You can't allow yourself to care for her. She's been betrayed and hurt and her entire life has been taken away from her. What she needs now is a friend, not a lover._

_I know . . ._ Kuririn's shoulders sagged in defeat. _But it's not like I can turn it off! I love her!_

_Well, it's your choice . . . but I'm warning you, you're just going to hurt her if you let her know how you feel. I think it's in her best interest--and yours--to just try to be her friend, and nothing more._

Knowing his subconscious was right, Kuririn made up his mind right then and there to keep his feelings hidden, no matter how hard that would be. 

_****** _

At breakfast the next morning, #18 said nothing about waking up in her own bed instead of the roof. She had wondered, at the time she had gone up to the roof, whether or not Kuririn would come after her. For some odd reason, #18 was pleased that he had. 

"Did you have a good sleep?" Kuririn asked. He was bustling around the kitchen, fixing a humongous breakfast that could have done Goku justice. 

"I slept well," #18 said, nodding. She managed a small smile of thanks as Kuririn set a plate piled high with food before her. 

The two of them ate in silence for some time--or rather, Kuririn ate and #18 toyed with her food. After a time, #18 spoke up. "Why did you come after me last night?" 

Surprised by the suddenness of the question, Kuririn blinked a few times before answering. "I was worried about you," he replied honestly, and #18 could see a bit of the anxiety still lingering in his eyes. "What were you thinking, going there in the middle of that thunderstorm? You could've been struck by lightning, or something even worse!" 

#18 snorted. "You worry too much," she informed him. Inwardly, she grimaced._ O, great. That was a really smart question to ask. I know the human has feelings for me; I shouldn't encourage him. What was I thinking?_

Her subconscious answered this one_. Because you're beginning to have feelings for him, too; feelings you've never experienced before, and you want to find out more about them._

_Shut up!_ #18 told herself sharply. _You don't know anything!_

Kuririn watched in mild alarm as #18's face went through several expressions in a matter of seconds; self-belittlement, curiosity, and finally, anger. At the moment she was scowling darkly._Gosh,_ he paled as a sudden thought occurred to him. _I hope she isn't mad at me!_

"Hey, uh . . . you done?" Kuririn ventured finally, gesturing to #18's plate and glass. 

#18 shook herself out of her trance and nodded. Kuririn cleared the table and washed the dishes, while #18 remained at the table, watching him. It was a little unnerving, knowing #18's eyes were on him the whole time, following his every move, though completely without interest. Kuririn wondered, not for the first time, what #18 was thinking. _Man, I've got to get Piccolo to teach me how to use telepathy,_ Kuririn thought wryly. 

Once he had finished, Kuririn turned to #18. "You'll probably want some time to yourself," he waved his hand in an expansive gesture. "The house is all yours, my dear. I'm going out to train for a few hours--I'll be in the woods, if you need me." 

#18 raised her eyebrows in a "Why should I care?" expression that made Kuririn feel about as intelligent as one of Vegeta's target drones. "Well, I'll see you later, then," Kuririn called lamely and left the house, heading for the woods. 

During the next few hours, Kuririn occupied himself with sparring against an invisible opponent, punching and kicking the empty air with ferocious speed. The sweat poured off his body, and Kuririn found himself grinning widely; fighting, even in practice, was his favorite past-time. It kept him alive . . . while battling, all Kuririn's other problems seemed to disappear into thin air--especially women problems. It was a wonderful feeling, and in what seemed like no time at all, Kuririn's stomach was telling him it was time for lunch. 

Kuririn ran a hand through his hair and shook his head, sending sweat droplets flying off in all directions. He grinned as he headed back to the house. "Now I know why Goku and Vegeta eat so much," Kuririn remarked to himself, "I'm starved!" 

Kuririn made himself lunch, had a quick shower, and changed his sweat-soaked clothing before heading back out. #18 hadn't been in the house, something for which Kuririn was strangely grateful. He couldn't trust himself not to make a fool of himself in front of her, especially when he was worn out from training. 

He had only been back outside for about ten minutes when he was met with a shock; into the clearing walked #18. She was dressed in an orange gi and blue undershirt that were too large for her, but the deadly competence in her eyes removed all possible humor from the situation. Kuririn's mouth dropped open. "What are you wearing?" he managed finally, realizing belatedly just how dumb that sounded. 

#18 raised an eyebrow. "I borrowed it from your friend Goku's closet--his widow was only too glad to let me have it. She said she never wanted to see a fighting suit again," she tugged at the blue sash around her waist, pulling it tighter. 

Kuririn tried again. "Why . . . ?" 

This time #18 looked annoyed. "What, does fighting sap the energy from your brain and move it to your muscles?" she glared at him. "Training alone isn't nearly as effective as training with someone. I need a sparring partner--and if I'm correct, so do you." 

"Well, yeah," Kuririn admitted, his brain slowly catching up to its surroundings. He could hardly believe his luck. "Sure, if you wanna be my partner, I do need one." 

"If I hadn't wanted to, I wouldn't have brought up the subject," #18 pointed out matter-of-factly. She planted her feet firmly on the ground and clenched her fists in the ready stance. "But I'm warning you, I'm not going to go easy on you just because you gave me a place to stay." 

Kuririn flashed her a cocky grin as he powered up. "I wouldn't want it any other way." 

#18 attacked first, coming at him with a barrage of kicks and punches, all of which Kuririn managed to block and counter with blows of his own. #18 was a good match for him, forcing Kuririn to go to his limit, and even then Kuririn could sense she was holding back a little . . . or a lot. She_ had_ defeated Super Saiyan Vegeta.   
  


At one point in the mock-battle, the two combatants faced one another and locked hands, fingers intertwined and arms outstretched, their muscles rigid. #18 had to stoop to accommodate Kuririn's height, but still she managed to push him steadily backwards. Kuririn, of course, was having a hard time concentrating on the fight; #18 might be able to ignore the fact that her hands and Kuririn's were so closely linked, but Kuririn sure wasn't. Try as he might, it was extremely hard to push the thought to the back of his mind. Kuririn glanced over their joined hands at #18's face and saw that it was completely expressionless. _Well, what did you expect,_ he chided himself, _She's _way_ outta your league_! 

Annoyed at himself, Kuririn dropped suddenly to his knees and threw #18 over his shoulder. She fell to the ground and slammed hard into the dirt, though she got up immediately. "Good one," #18 complimented him, squeezing out a small smile as she examined her right sleeve. It was torn at the elbow. "But don't expect to be able to do that again." 

They stared at each other for a few seconds, and against his will, Kuririn found himself noticing how pretty #18 was, even when she was fighting-- 

That split-second of distraction was all #18 needed to charge Kuririn and knock him down. "You aren't concentrating," she scolded, placing one foot on his chest. "When you fight, you have to think of nothing but the battle. You only leave yourself open to attacks otherwise." 

"I know, I know," Kuririn grimaced. He attempted to get out from under #18's foot, but to no avail. "Let me up and I'll do better this time." 

#18 cocked an eyebrow and she lifted her foot. "Good. I came for a challenge, not a pushover." 

The fight continued then, generally increasing in intensity until Kuririn's hair and clothing were once again soaked with sweat. Amusingly enough, #18 could have been sitting at home reading the entire morning for all the exhaustion she showed, despite a few minor rips in her jumpsuit. 

After she had beaten him a second time and Kuririn had defeated her once, #18 issued a challenge. "Let's step it up a bit," she declared, an expression on her face that--had Kuririn not known her better--could have been taken as a grin. "Why don't we try using energy blasts as well?" 

Kuririn suppressed a wince. He knew quite a few energy attacks, but most of them were fatal. "I dunno', I don't want to--" 

"Hurt me?" #18 finished the sentence. She crossed her arms, her momentary flash of humor gone. "Listen, I came here to fight you, not to have you try to baby me because I'm a woman. Now you've got two choices--either fight back, or I'll kill you. It's your decision, and though I don't really enjoy killing people who don't fight, I will." 

Kuririn swallowed hard. He knew #18 was perfectly serious--he'd seen that same look on Goku's face before. "All right, I'll fight." 

As it turned out, Kuririn needn't have worried about killing #18, or even seriously hurting her. Although her gi became somewhat tattered, #18 withstood all of Kuririn's attacks. Some of them, like the Kienzan, she evaded . . . others, such as the case of the kamehameha, she countered with a blast of her own, then dissipated the energy. After an hour or so, Kuririn knew he was on the losing side, and he wondered how he could get out of this gracefully. Vegeta and Goku had always sparred until one of them was beaten into unconsciousness, but Kuririn had no desire to go _that _far. 

"Hey, #18--" Kuririn began, but a particularly powerful blast hit him full force in the chest, sending him flying backwards, where he slammed into a tree. Kuririn sank to the ground, out cold. 

#18 walked over to him and prodded him with her foot, looking for a reaction. When no response came, #18 wasted no time; she hoisted Kuririn over her shoulder and began carrying him back to the house. It had been silly of the small human to think he had even the slightest chance of beating her, but #18 admired his courage anyway. The others refused to spar with her at all . . . but there was something about Kuririn, something friendly and trusting that seemed to draw #18 to him, despite her attempts to remain aloof. With the exception of the women, who saw #18 as one of them, and maybe Piccolo, #18 had no one besides Kuririn to talk to. In all honesty, however, #18 couldn't think of anyone else who was worthy of her conversation. Certainly not Vegeta! 

When #18 reached the house, she set Kuririn on the couch, tossed a blanket over him, and headed off to the kitchen to find a sensu bean. Kuririn probably didn't really need it--he'd wake up in a few hours on his own--but he'd be in a lot of pain when he did. #18 admitted to herself that she'd been a bit tougher on him than she'd had to be, and it wasn't too fair to make Kuririn feel like a squashed tomato if she didn't have to. 

She found the sensu beans in a jar in the kitchen cupboard. Palming one, #18 went back to the living room and prepared to give Kuririn the bean. She paused, however, as she glanced at Kuririn's unconscious form. Soon he would wake to his cheerful effervescent self, and #18 would have to retreat within herself, hiding behind an impenetrable mental wall. When Kuririn woke, he would chatter and make corny jokes and laugh at himself, but all the while silently letting #18 know he was there for her if she wanted to talk. 

#18 shuddered. She had to keep a wall erected between herself and Kuririn; had to stop herself from becoming too friendly. In her analytical way, #18 began cataloguing the reasons for this. 

When the real cause came to her, #18 sucked in her breath sharply. She knew, deep down inside her, that the true reason she felt the need to distance herself from Kuririn was that, if she allowed herself to get too close to him, she might begin to care for him. #18 closed her eyes and let out a long sigh, knowing she was right. Kuririn's sympathetic and caring nature drew #18 to him, though she wasn't sure why. It was as though Kuririn's openness and #18's cynicism provided the perfect foil for each other, and despite her inner protests, #18 knew it. 

#18's hands shook. She would not--would _not_!--allow herself to feel any more for him than casual friendship. It was far too dangerous. _What is happening to me? _#18 asked herself furiously. _Why is this stupid human taking over my thought processes? I'm a cyborg; I have no feelings!_

Almost angrily, #18 administered the sensu bean, then left the house quickly. More than anything she wanted to run off, to leave Kuririn and her messed-up brain behind . . . but that was a stupid thought. #18 had nowhere else to go. 

#18 saw a tree in the front yard, and she flew up to it and sat on a branch about twenty feet from the ground. Something about trees comforted her. Perhaps it was a subconscious memory from her long-forgotten childhood. Well, whatever the reason, #18 felt a lot less confused. 

Kuririn woke up on the couch, and though he felt a little disoriented, he didn't seem to have any injuries._ #18 must've given me a sensu bean_, he realized. _That was nice of her,_ Kuririn winced. _Ah, Kami-sama, I still have to make supper._

Just then, the phone rang. Kuririn jumped up to answer it, though when he saw who it was, he almost wished he hadn't; on the viewscreen was the image of Vegeta, and he didn't look too happy_._

"Oh hey, Vegeta," Kuririn greeted him warily. He and the Saiyan Prince got along okay, but Vegeta could still be quite testy with him. 

As usual, Vegeta didn't mince words. "Baldy, is that cybernetic freak with you?" 

It took Kuririn a few seconds to register the question, and when he did it was another length of time before he could work through his anger enough to give a civil response. Sometimes Vegeta's snobbery could go a little too far. _ And I'm not bald,_ he thought to himself. _Is Vegeta blind, or just nasty? _"If you mean #18, then yes, she's here. Why?" 

"Stupid Rôshi called me," Vegeta snorted. "Said she'd run off yesterday and was wondering where she was. I figured she'd be with you," the Saiyan gave Kuririn a _look_ that implied a great deal of things. 

Kuririn felt his face turn red. "Aw come on, Vegeta! It's not like that!" he wilted under Vegeta's "_Sure _it isn't" stare. "You know me, man!" 

"That's what I meant." 

Kuririn's blush deepened. "Yeah, well, she's different." 

Vegeta shrugged. "Whatever you say. It's your problem, not mine. Anyway, Psycho Woman wants you to join us for dinner tonight. We're going shopping--" Vegeta shuddered-- "And out to one of her favorite dance clubs to eat." 

_Psycho Woman?_ Kuririn thought. 

"I heard that!" Bulma yelled in the background. "You call me that again and I'll break the gravitational trainer into a million pieces! Just ask Kuririn if he and #18 want to come." 

Vegeta turned back to Kuririn, grimacing. "Well, you heard her. Are you coming?" 

Kuririn thought fast. #18 would probably never forgive him for this, but it would be good for her to get out once in a while. "Yeah, sure, we'll come." 

"Fine. We'll be at your house at seven." 

Kuririn signed off and glanced at a clock on the wall; it was not quite six, which gave him an hour to persuade #18 to come. Something told him he'd need all the time he had available. 

* * * * * 


	2. Chapter 2

"Kuririn? Kuririn! Are you awake?" 

"Hmm?" Kuririn replied nervously, tearing his gaze away from the window of the hovercar, where he'd been staring transfixed at the scenery speeding past. Bulma's driving could be called "reckless" at best, and today was no exception. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you. I was busy making up my will. I'm leaving everything to Gohan if I die in the car crash Bulma is definitely gonna' get us into." 

#18 looked at him curiously. "First you're scared of heights, now you're afraid of speed, yet you love flying. Would you care to explain this to me?" 

Kuririn shrugged. "This is _nothing_ like flying! When I fly, at least I have some control over what happens. This--" he winced as Bulma narrowly missed a stop sign, careering around a sharp corner without letting up on the gas. "My life is in Bulma's hands!" 

"And the fear of heights?" 

#18 was referring to Kuririn's adamant refusal to come up to the tree. "They're too high," he explained, feeling his face redden. "I don't know why, it's just the way I am." 

#18's sarcastic reply was cut off as Bulma slammed on the brakes, flinging everyone forward. 

Bulma didn't waste any time. As soon as #18 was out of the car, Bulma grabbed her arm and pulled her into the clothing store. "You can't go to the dance club wearing that," Bulma pointed out, indicating the black vest, white shirt, and jeans #18 had worn since before her absorption by Cell. 

"Uh-oh, she's in for it now . . ." Vegeta muttered under his breath. Bulma ignored him. 

Much to everyone's surprise, #18 agreed with Bulma. "I know, I know. It's been hard enough just keeping this clean. I've wanted to go shopping for ages, but I don't have any zenni, and some people wouldn't like it if I just blasted in, took what I wanted, and left." 

"Don't worry about money," Bulma waved her hand in a magnanimous gesture. "I'll cover whatever you want to buy." 

#18 looked at Bulma suspiciously for a second, the same way she looked at Kuririn whenever he tried to do something nice, but then a smile crossed her face. "All right. Thank you," she actually hooked her arm through Bulma's. "Shall we go?" the two women walked into the store together. 

Vegeta looked at Kuririn, bugeyed. "The tin can likes to _shop_?" 

Kuririn could only shrug. "Hey, don't look at me, pal. She surprises me all the time!" 

"I think it's disgusting," Vegeta snorted. "How two women so completely different are brought together by something as dumb as shopping. They'll probably be sickeningly bonded after this." 

Kuririn laughed at the thought of that happening. "I don't think so. I don't think even the Dragonballs could do that! Though it would be interesting to watch." 

Vegeta just snorted again. 

It didn't take long for Kuririn to get a suit fitted, made, and all ready to go. When he came back into the main foyer, wearing his new white suit and hat, Kuririn found Vegeta waiting impatiently, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. The salespeople had carefully migrated to the far side of the room. "Hey, Vegeta," Kuririn greeted him. "How are the girls coming?" 

"Don't ask me," Vegeta grumbled. "They're still in the fitting room. Why do women always take so long at everything?" 

"I dunno," Kuririn shrugged, "But I--" 

Just then, #18 poked her head out the door of the women's fitting room. "Oh, good, you're here. Blue or green, Kuririn?" 

Kuririn blinked. "Uh . . . blue. It matches your eyes." 

#18 nodded decisively. "I thought so. Wait here," she disappeared again. 

Kuririn waited for a few minutes, staring at the clock, mentally preparing himself for what #18 would look like when she came back. He didn't want to look like an idiot, standing there staring at her with his mouth wide open. 

Unfortunately, that was what happened. #18 re-entered the room, wearing a light blue dress the shade of her eyes. Her hair was the same as always, the color of corn silk and falling not quite to her shoulders, but it had been combed differently and the dress' color made it seem to stand out more. 

"Hey, baldy, close your mouth!" Vegeta hissed. "You look like a dying fish!" 

Kuririn obediently snapped his jaw shut, though he could feel his cheeks getting hot. _I'm not bald,_ he thought indignantly. _Someday I'm gonna point that out to him._   
  


#18 turned in a circle, the skirt flaring out with the movement. When she stopped, she frowned. "You don't like it," she observed. 

Kuririn blinked in surprise. "Huh? What makes you think that?" 

"Your face is turning red." 

"That's not why!" Kuririn expostulated, before he realized what he'd said. 

Too late. #18 raised her eyebrows. "Really. Why, then?" 

Vegeta chuckled nastily to himself. "I can't wait to hear baldy's answer to_ this_ one." 

#18 whirled on Vegeta angrily. "Listen, you self-proclaimed Prince of Saiyans, I don't recall asking your opinion on the matter. And for your information, Kuririn is not bald. He has hair, or is the rumor that your brains are all in your muscles true?" 

Vegeta's mouth dropped open. He'd had plenty of verbal sparrings with Kuririn, and he'd always won. Never--_never_--had he expected the android to step in! 

"Good, you shut up," #18 sent Vegeta one last glare, then turned back to Kuririn. "Don't think I've forgotten my question." 

"Uh," Kuririn's blush deepened. "I guess 'cause . . . you look really nice," he winced. _That was so lame,_ he thought. 

Apparently #18 found it amusing, for the expression on her face signified she'd never let him forget this one. "You sound surprised," #18 challenged. "Shocked, even." 

"No, no, no!" Kuririn shook his head vehemently. "It's just, ah, I've never seen you wearing a dress and, ah, you just look really nice." 

#18 nodded slowly. "I see," she said in a voice that said she didn't see at all--or perhaps saw all too well. "So you're saying I shouldn't wear the green one?" 

"That's right," Kuririn agreed hastily, jumping at any chance to change the subject. "The blue looks good." 

"Which means we can go now," Vegeta interjected. 

"No," Bulma corrected, popping out from the fitting room, "I still have five dresses for you to choose from." 

"_Aarrggh_!" 

Finally, the group left the store, Vegeta loudly expressing his relief, Bulma glaring, and Kuririn trying not to laugh. "I wish we had more time," #18 remarked rather wistfully. "I like this dress and everything, but I really need a few outfits to wear on regular days." 

"Stop grousing, woman," Vegeta called from the front seat of the hovercar, where he was tugging at his collar. "You look fine." 

#18 raised a blonde eyebrow. "O, so I'm 'woman' now, am I? Not 'tin can' or 'robot'? I think I'm going to have to get a few more dresses." 

Vegeta's face actually reddened as he tried to cover up what he'd said. "You know what I mean," he snapped finally. "Good heavens, you're impossible, wom--I mean--_aarrggh_!" he broke off, sputtering, as the others burst out laughing. 

The hovercar screeched to a stop. "Show time," Kuririn took #18 by the hand and helped her out of the car, pretending he didn't notice when #18 snatched her hand away. Bulma and Vegeta were already on their way into the club. 

#18 looked at the bright, flashing lights, and paled. "Right . . . I've defeated Vegeta, Piccolo, and Trunks, been absorbed and spit out by Cell . . . I can handle this." 

Kuririn chuckled. "I know you can, babe," he held out his arm, and #18 stared at him blankly. Patiently, Kuririn took #18's hand and placed it in the crook of his arm, then rested his hand on top of hers. 

"Why are we doing this?" #18 wanted to know as they got in line behind Vegeta and Bulma. She looked as though she wanted to pull away, but didn't. 

"Women are supposed to hold hands or something with the guy they're with," Kuririn explained. "That way the other guys at the club know you aren't free game." 

#18 looked down at him, an amused look on her face. "Since when do you think I need _you_ to protect me from men?" she countered. "And I didn't know I was 'with' anybody, least of all you!" 

Kuririn's cheeks felt warm, and he knew he was blushing again. "Uh, sorry, I just meant that, I mean--" 

"Forget it," #18 grinned, squeezing his arm. "That was just my pathetic cyborg attempt at humor." 

Kuririn relaxed. "Oh yeah, I knew that the whole time," he lied unconvincingly. #18 just shook her head, a small smile on her face. 

The two pairs found a table up on the second storey, overlooking the dance floor. #18 watched all the dancing couples with a puzzled look on her face. "What are they doing?" she asked. "Battling?" 

"No," Kuririn hid behind his menu so #18 wouldn't see him laughing. "They're dancing." 

#18 did not look convinced. "They look as though they're engaging in close-quarters combat." 

"Believe me," this time he could not repress a chuckle. "They aren't fighting." 

#18 shrugged. "You're the expert." 

During the meal, Vegeta shoveled in the food like it was his last day on Earth, Bulma glared at him, and Kuririn had to stop #18 from killing more than one slightly-tipsy man who wanted to dance with her. 

"#18, please," Kuririn pleaded after grabbing #18's hand to stop her from forming an energy blast for the millionth time. "They're drunk. They don't know what they're doing." 

"Obviously," #18 huffed. She looked down at her hands, which Kuririn still held in a vice grip. "You can let go now." 

"Oops, s-sorry," Kuririn apologized quickly and obeyed. _Well, at least she asked politely,_ he thought. _She could've just blasted me. I think she's starting to lighten up._

Bulma glanced at them, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "Well, I know one sure-fire way to get other guys not to dance with you," she smiled innocently. 

"Apart from blasting the place," #18 said dryly, "What?" 

"Dance with Vegeta. That usually scares them away." 

A smile tweaked at the corners of #18's mouth, then she burst out laughing. Vegeta looked up from his food and glared at her. "Shut up, woman," he growled. 

"Come on, Mr. Prince Pain-In-The-Rear," Bulma commanded him, "You're coming to dance with me. Now." 

Vegeta started to protest, but Bulma cut him off with the usual "I-mean-it-or-no-gravitational-trainer" threat. Grumbling, Vegeta let Bulma lead him to the dance floor. 

Kuririn glanced at #18, who was still chuckling to herself over the thought of dancing with Vegeta. It was the fizrst time Kuririn had seen #18 laugh--really laugh--and the sight elevated his courage. "Hey, you wanna try?" 

"Dancing, you mean?" the humor disappeared from #18's eyes, to be replaced by a scathing expression. 

Blast it, Kuririn thought, he'd blown it. "Nah, just watching. Who knows, maybe you'll pick up some new fighting moves." 

#18 snorted. "Right," she shook her head. "All right, I suppose we can go watch. Perhaps I'll find something to blackmail Vegeta about." 

Kuririn grinned, and the two of them headed down to the dance floor. On the way there several men leered at #18, but she just glared at them and defiantly hooked her arm through Kuririn's, and they turned away. Once she'd passed them, though, #18 dropped Kuririn's arm. 

They watched the myriad couples cavorting on the dance floor for a few minutes, not saying anything. Kuririn singled out Bulma and Vegeta, noting that despite his earlier arguments, the Saiyan did appear to be enjoying himself. _Bulma and Vegeta look good together,_ Kuririn realized. _Anyone could see they're meant for each other._ He risked a surreptitious glance up at the woman standing beside him, wondering if anyone at the club had him and #18 pegged as a couple. _Aw, come on, man! Snap out of it! #18's the prettiest woman in the building, and you're . . . well, _look_ at you!_

"What happened? Did everyone get tired all of a sudden?" 

Kuririn shook himself back to the present and saw that the song had changed to a slow dance. "They're not tired. It's a type of dance, that's all." 

#18's expression was scornful. "It looks boring." 

_I wonder,_ Kuririn thought, trying to muster his courage. _Listen up, you wimp! You won't know if you don't try_! Kuririn took a deep breath. "It's not boring, actually. Wanna try?" 

"Everyone's just walking in circles," #18 pointed out. "I'd get dizzy." 

Kuririn's shoulders slumped in defeat. _Well, so much for trying. _"Yeah, I guess you're right." 

#18 heard the dejected quality to Kuririn's voice, and suddenly she felt sorry for him, and not a little angry at herself for being so cruel. Her tone softened. "You'll notice I didn't say no." 

Kuririn looked up, hope flaring in his eyes. 

#18 managed a smile, and she took Kuririn's hand and walked out to the dance floor. "I guess I should try everything once," she told him. 

Those next few minutes seemed, to Kuririn, to last forever. His world consisted solely of himself, #18, and the music. He didn't care that once the song was over things would be back to normal; right now, time seemed to stop. He squeezed #18's hand, and she looked down at him. "Dizzy?" he asked, grinning. 

"Actually, no," #18 had a small smile on her face. "Believe it or not, this is kind of relaxing." 

The grin on Kuririn's face spread from ear to ear and wrapped around his face three times. 

Like all things, however, the song had to end. After a time that seemed unforgivably short to Kuririn, the music changed and a faster song came on. Kuririn was correct in surmising that #18 wouldn't want to dance to what she merely called "_that_." 

"Kuririn, can I ask you a question?" #18 inquired as they returned to their table. 

"Yeah, sure. Go ahead." 

#18 gave him a pointed glance. "Alone?" 

For the first time, Kuririn noticed all the people around their table, and he got the not-so-subtle hint. "Oh, right. I think they have a balcony." 

"Good. Let's go there." 

There was indeed a balcony, but it was occupied by a pair of starry-eyed lovers in their late teens or early twenties, who paid no attention to the newcomers. "Oh, gross," #18 muttered under her breath, watching the two kissing, "They're in public!" 

"Well it wasn't in public until we came here," Kuririn pointed out. #18 just rolled her eyes. 

Loudly, #18 announced, "I need this balcony. Get out." 

The man glanced at his girlfriend with raised eyebrows and started to say something, but #18 didn't give him a chance to speak. She powered up a small energy ball and fired it at a flowerpot, which shattered into a thousand pieces. Needless to say, the other couple wasted no time in running away. 

"You could've been more polite," Kuririn remarked, though he was struggling not to laugh. 

"It was effective. I don't need to work on subtleties." 

Kuririn snorted. "No, I guess not." 

#18 leaned against the balcony and stared out at the stars, and Kuririn perched himself on the top of the railing so he was about eye level with her. "So what's up?" he asked. 

#18 blinked a few times, looking as though she'd just come out of a trance. "What? Did you say something?" 

"Not really," Kuririn shrugged, "But you said you wanted to ask me something." 

#18 winced. "Don't rush me. I'm beginning to think this wasn't such a good idea." 

Kuririn's eyes widened, but he said nothing. _I wonder what she's thinking, _he mused. _Probably trying not to blast me for bringing her here . . . or maybe not. _ Kuririn sneaked a glance at #18's face; she didn't look angry, she seemed . . . confused? _Maybe I'm imagining things, _Kuririn thought, at the same time desperately hoping he wasn't. _She couldn't possibly be thinking about me . . . could she?_

In reality, #18 was waging an all-out mental war against herself--or rather, the cyborg and human components to her brain were conflicting. 

_I can't believe this. What am I doing? I should be _avoiding_ men like Kuririn, not living with them and dancing with them!_

_Why should you avoid him?_ the human part reasoned. _This guy gave you a place to stay, and he's not asking for anything in return. Why is that so bad?_

_I don't know! All I know is that I feel threatened when I'm around him, but I don't know why. He's just so . . . so . . ._

_Nice?_

_What are you talking about?_

_Kuririn, obviously. He's always been there for you, whenever you need him, and whenever you're with him you feel that emotional armor start to break down. That's why you're feeling threatened. Not by Kuririn--by what you think he's doing to you. You're afraid of seeming weak._

Her human side had a point there. _I know. There's something about Kuririn that makes me want to cry--I know that sounds stupid, but sometimes my past and all those memories come rushing at me, and all I want to do is cry on his shoulder._ Inwardly, #18 laughed hollowly. _Isn't that pathetic?_

_It's not pathetic. It's human._

_I'm not human!_

_Maybe you're afraid._

_Of Kuririn??! Why?? He's short and--well, he used to be bald--and he couldn't defeat me in battle if he tried! He--_

_I didn't say you were afraid of Kuririn. I think you're scared because of what he's made you feel. You care about him, Android #18!_

_I do not!_

_Why bother denying it? I know you. I _am_ you, even though you don't pay attention to me much. You care a lot about that "funny little human," and that's why you feel threatened. But think about it--why should you be embarrassed about having feelings for Kuririn? Look, it's obvious that the poor guy is head-over-heels for you. How many times in your life has that happened to you? He's doing everything he can to make you happy, and what does he ask for in return? _Nothing._ Not even for you to be civil to him._

_But--_

_Secondly, it's just as evident that Kuririn thinks he rates even lower than bugs with you, so he's hiding his feelings as best he can. He knows sentiment makes you uncomfortable, so he's trying to overcome his feelings. Face it, girl, any guy who'd put away how much he cares for you so he won't hurt you, has gotta love you an awful lot._

_I don't know what you're trying to psych me into thinking, but you're wrong. Love is a human emotion. I'm a cyborg._

_You're part human, too. And more importantly, you're a woman._

_What's that got to do with it?_

_Oh, come on. Do you think Kuririn cares if you have augmented eyesight or increased fighting capabilities? You're more human than you care to admit--_

"Shut up. Just shut up!" 

Kuririn jumped in surprise. "Uh, #18, who are you talking to?" 

#18 grimaced, realizing belatedly that she had spoken this last part aloud. "Just myself," she buried her face in her hands. 

A hand on her shoulder made #18 look up. "Hey, you wanna' talk?" 

Before she had time to think, #18 found herself collapsed in a chair, with a very concerned Kuririn seated on the arm of the chair, holding one of her hands. #18 paused for a moment to collect herself, then suddenly burst out, "Why did you do it? That's what I wanted to ask you--why did you save me? Why didn't you let Cell absorb me again, or allow Vegeta to kill me?" 

"I couldn't do that!" Kuririn protested. "I care about you, and I wasn't gonna just let you die! You deserve to live." 

"Some life," #18 shot back. "My entire purpose for living is gone--everything I used to consider important has been taken away from me. My priorities have been flipped around, and even my brother, the only person I ever cared about, is gone!" 

Kuririn bit his lip. How could he have been so selfish, wondering if #18 reciprocated his feelings, when her life had been ripped apart? How could #18 even_ think_ about love when just living was hard enough? 

"I'm sorry," Kuririn apologized, "I bet I haven't made things any easier for you, either." 

Kuririn could've sworn #18's eyes glowed red for a second, then she pulled away from him and flew up so she was hovering a few feet above the balcony. "I don't want sympathy," she snapped. 

"I'm not giving you sympathy!" Kuririn countered. "I'm just saying I understand." 

"How could you understand? You haven't been through what I've gone through!" 

"I know I haven't, but if you let me, I can help you," Kuririn pointed out, trying to get #18 to come back. She had been on the verge of opening up . . . 

But it was too late. The moment was over, the spell broken, and #18 was back to her old self. "I don't_ need_ your help," she informed him coldly. 

Kuririn gave up, and he couldn't keep the downcast expression off his face, or the droop from his shoulders. "I know you don't. But sometimes you don't have to do everything yourself," he sighed. "Well anyway, if you ever wanna talk, you know where to find me. I'm gonna go see where Bulma and Vegeta are," he left the balcony, trying not to show how hurt he was. 

_There you go again!_ #18's mind yelled at her. _Why do you have to be so cruel to him? He's helping you the only way he knows how. Look at him . . . he looks like he's going to cry. Well, I hope you're happy._

"Kuririn!" #18 called out without thinking. 

Kuririn stopped, turned around as #18 came up to him. "Yeah?" he wasn't sure what to expect. 

#18 stared at him for a second, wondering what to say, then she bent down and kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks for trying," she said softly, then walked back into the club. 

Kuririn stared after her, every bit as startled as he would've been if Vegeta had kissed him. Slowly, slowly, a smile crept over Kuririn's face. 

* * * * * * 

That night, Kuririn once again had trouble sleeping--this time, however, it was because he couldn't stop grinning. She had kissed him again! Albeit it had only been an apology for being rude, but at least it was _something_. 

Kuririn chuckled to himself, then got out of bed and threw on his house robe before going downstairs. If he was going to be up, he might as well have a snack. 

#18 stood at the kitchen counter, cutting up a tomato for a sandwich. She hadn't been able to sleep, and had figured that eating something might help. So intent was she on her culinary task that #18 didn't hear Kuririn come into the kitchen behind her. 

"Hey, #18, couldn't sleep either, huh?" 

"Aahh!" #18 yelped, startled. The knife slipped, gashing her palm rather badly. "Look what you made me do," #18 glared, waving her bleeding hand in Kuririn's face. 

Kuririn winced. "I'm sorry. Here, let me see," he reached for her hand, but #18 snatched it away. 

"I'm fine." 

"I'm sure you are, and I know you've been hurt millions of times worse," Kuririn grinned as #18 rolled her eyes, indicating that that would've been her next argument. He gave her a wry smile. "But you're dripping blood all over my nice, clean floor." 

#18 looked at the small, red puddle that was slowly gathering on the tiles, and she sighed. "All right. Here," she held out her hand. 

Kuririn was already rooting around a well-stocked medicine cabinet. "Never know when I'll get my hand stuck in a blender or something," Kuririn joked. He took #18's hand carefully and began daubing the cut with an antiseptic. Touching #18's hand, even just to clean the cut, brought all the feelings Kuririn had struggled to keep dormant back to full boil. Kuririn swallowed hard and forced himself to focus. 

#18 eyed the pile of bandages and antiseptics with raised eyebrows. "It's not that ba--ouch!! What _is_ that?" 

Kuririn shook his head as he applied a different salve to the wound. "Stop being such a baby," he scoffed. "It can't hurt that badly. You're sounding like Vegeta." 

"That was just too mean," #18 snorted. "I might have to bleed on you for that one." 

"Too late," Kuririn held up his sleeve, which was already wet with #18's blood. 

#18 was silent, and she watched with interest as Kuririn began bandaging her hand. It was strange, she thought to herself, how people could have two sides to them. She'd seen Kuririn fight before, against Cell, and the little human had proved he had a very large angry side to him. Yet here he was, bandaging her hand gently, as though afraid of hurting her. It was odd. 

Kuririn finished wrapping the bandage, but he was reluctant to let go of #18's hand. "There we go," he announced, "Now you're sure it doesn't hurt?" 

"It never hurt in the first place." 

Kuririn made a face at her. "O yeah, that's right," blood was still seeping through the bandage, and Kuririn gently traced the cut with one finger. 

"Ouch!" #18 exclaimed, and Kuririn's head snapped up in alarm to see her grinning. "Ha, fooled you," she smiled. 

Kuririn shook his head. "Got me on that one," he raised #18's hand to his face and kissed her palm. "There you go. All better." 

#18 looked quizzical. "There is medicinal value in kisses?" 

It was tomato time for Kuririn's face again. "No, it's just an old human thing. I think mothers say it to their kids or something," flustered, Kuririn dropped her hand. "Well, there you go." 

#18 felt an odd twinge of disappointment when Kuririn let go of her hand, but she shoved the thought away. "Thank you. I think I'll be fine now." 

Kuririn laughed weakly, one hand behind his head. "Yeah . . . I'll finish your sandwich for you," #18 fell silent, and Kuririn took over cutting the tomatoes, after washing the blood off the knife. "Do you want margarine, or mayonnaise?" no answer. Kuririn turned around. "Uh, #18--" 

#18 was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the red stain that was slowly coloring the bandage. "Why did you use that wish on me?" #18 asked suddenly. 

By now, Kuririn was used to #18's abrupt questions. Still, it caught him off-guard. "I told you already. I care about you; the self-destruct device was the only thing left from your past, and I wanted you to be able to live a free life," he managed a grin. "Or maybe I'd just gotten used to having you around to insult me." 

"But why? What did I do to deserve your compassion? The entire point of my existence is to kill Goku, your best friend!" 

Kuririn looked at her, surprised. "That _was_ the point of your existence. You're different now," he pointed out, abandoning the sandwich to come sit beside her. "And it wasn't _your_ compulsion to kill us, anyway--it was your programming." 

"Exactly!" #18 yelled, pounding the table and making Kuririn jump. "I'm an android. I'm the creation of a deranged old man! What is the point of living?" her eyes blazed. "Why bother saving me? I'm just a stupid robot who was made as a tool in satisfying an old man's jealous whims, and I _followed_ it! I obeyed my programming like one of Vegeta's mindless training drones." 

"But you overcame that," Kuririn argued. "You're more than just scrap metal like Vegeta's target robots; you've changed. You're part human, too . . . you have to be, if you realize your mistakes. That's the first step." 

Kuririn's gaze was drawn once again to #18's hand, staring at the crimson-stained bandage. It was like a symbol of #18's own heart--torn, bleeding, and in pain, even if the pain wasn't acknowledged. Even with a bandage--or an emotional barrier--the blood, or pain, still managed to seep through. 

"I don't even know who I am anymore," #18 said quietly, bitterly. 

Kuririn reached out to touch #18's hand. "I don't pretend to know everything, but I do know you aren't 'just a stupid robot'. I know that if you let me, I can help you get through this. And I know . . ." he paused, mustering his courage. "I know that I love you." 

#18's eyes widened. She'd known that, deep down, for a long time--but she'd never expected him to actually _say_ it! 

He pressed on hurriedly, knowing that if he allowed himself even a moment's hesitation, his resolve would fail. "I know this is a horrible, awful time to tell you, and I hope you don't think I'm just trying to get you on the rebound, because I'm not. I've tried to hide it and suppress it, but I can't anymore, and I'm so sorry, but--" 

#18 leaned forward and kissed him on the lips, which effectively shut him up. After a time #18 broke off, an expression on her face one that Kuririn had never seen on her before. "You talk too much," she smiled at him. 

Kuririn knew he was blushing, but this time he didn't care. "I'll have to cure myself of that, huh?" 

#18 actually laughed. "No, Kuririn, I don't mind it at all." 

Kuririn just laughed, for he knew that relations between him and #18 had changed forever. 

Some months later: 

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride." 

* * * * * * 


End file.
